


Cameron

by TC_Stark



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adult Themes, Angst, Bisexuality, Comfort, Divorce, Drama, Everyday Life, F/F, F/M, Family, Fatal Disease, Friendship, Gen, Homosexuality, Hurt, M/M, Marriage, Serious Issues, Sex, Widow, marital affair, mature content, pansexuality, small nosy town, the mourning of a loved one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TC_Stark/pseuds/TC_Stark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not sure if this is an appropriate place to post this story, but FictionPress is crap. This story is about a grieving husband, one year after the death of his beloved wife. This is the story of his recovery and the extent his friends will go to make sure that he's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Just an original works story. I am trying to get it out anyway possible. I think anyone who is a fan of hurt/comfort stories (and the show Supernatural) would really enjoy this.

Cameron hadn’t left his bed in weeks. Day in and day out, he lay on the old mattress. Dented slightly in the middle, it probably should have been replaced about a year ago, but what did he care? Life was not worth getting up for, changing a bed for. What did it matter? Even on the softest surface, he would be in pain.

 

It was hard for Frankie to look at Cameron and see him completely give up. Of course, she understood his reasons, but it still pained her. It was like he was awaiting death, even though he was a young man of thirty-two. The hair in his stubble hadn’t even begun greying and the brown locks atop his head were full of life, but his body had made peace with the thought that it’d never leave the bed.

 

Though it had been a year since Darla had died, Cameron still wore his wedding ring. At first, he seemed to have taken it actually quite well. They had known, for a while; that she was dying. In fact, he had known even before they married some seven years prior. It didn’t matter the disease living inside her could be transmitted and that treatment didn’t work. He loved her and he wanted to make her his.

 

Cameron and Darla had been safe and he never contracted her disease. Frankie often thought he wished he had, just so he wouldn’t have to live without her. For a year, he seemed to have been coping. But, with the one year anniversary of her death, came his depression. And it was an illness all of its own.

 

Curled into a seat next to the bed, Frankie remained silent. Cameron and she had met through friends and she had quickly become part of their little trio. Darla was a beautiful ebony woman, whom the peach skinned girl had grown close to. They were so opposite. The deceased woman was about six feet tall and voluptuous, while the mid-twenty year old was barely over five feet and flat chested. Though she was thin and had a feminine frame to go along with her ample bottom, it was nothing compared to the long haired beauty.

 

With heels on, Darla was taller than Cameron. He never minded. The Caucasian man loved her for everything she was. Beautiful, confident, and full of life. Frankie liked to think she was a pretty playful girl, who tried to look on the bright side of things, but she could never hold a candle to the older woman.

 

Like Frankie, Cameron didn’t have any family. With his mother having died during childbirth and a father who abandoned him, the accountant had been on his own for a long time. It was no wonder he had attached himself to Darla’s bright light. There was no way he could resist getting caught in her web.

 

“Frankie,” His naturally raspy voice finally croaked, “You should go home.”

 

Lips thinned, the blonde haired tomboy corrected him, “I’m not going home, Cameron. Not until you get out of bed.”

 

“I’m never doing that.”

 

“You do to go to the bathroom.”

 

Eyes staring up at the ceiling, he commented, “Pissing in bed would be inappropriate.”

 

Even in a depressed state, Cameron still held his odd sense of humor. Frankie wanted to smile, but in a way she found it inappropriate to do so. Their mutual friend - the one who introduced them - had an affinity for the widow. Everyone he met cherished him, so it was especially hard seeing him in such a bad way.

 

Mindlessly scratching her arm, Frankie hummed to herself when there was suddenly a knock at the door. Cameron didn’t make any effort to get up, lying flat as a board. With a frown, the girl ran her hand up the back of her undercut hairstyle, before getting up and leaving the widow’s dark room.

 

Walking to the door, Frankie quickly looked through the peephole before opening the door. Damon had been the friend who introduced Cameron to her four years back; right when she was first leaving home and needed a friend. Being bisexual in an overly Christian household didn’t mix, which often led her to ask, how could people claim to be believers in God, but discriminate against fellow human beings?

 

A six pack of beer hung from Damon’s hand, leading Frankie to say, “He isn’t drinking anything.”

 

“Still on that, huh?”

 

Frankie folded her arms, “It’s been one year since Darla died. Of course he’s going to be in bad shape.”

 

Helping himself to one of the beers, Damon took a seat on the couch and took a swig, before saying, “I didn’t think this bad.”

 

“No one did,” She sighed, joining her friend and taking a beer from him, “Darla wouldn’t want this.”

 

Damon sighed and scratched the stubble on his chin. He was a tall man, with dusty brown hair and sun kissed skin, a result from an occupation in construction. In Frankie’s Hazel eyes, there couldn’t be any two men more opposite than him and Cameron. And yet, they were the best of friends. They shared an affection for each other that not most heterosexual men would be comfortable admitting.

 

“Did you ever see it coming?” Damon snorted, looking around, “Few years ago, did you ever see it like this? Settled down, sold out old farts living some cookie cutter life? Just five years ago, we were taking road trips across the country. Picking up women. Then we fucking met Cameron.”

 

The reason behind Damon’s bitter attitude resulted from a miserable marriage. Two years ago, the construction worker’s whore ways caught up with him and a one night stand turned into him becoming a father. While he loved his daughter, he was not the settling down kind of guy. But, he was brought up with old beliefs and thought the proper thing to do was to marry the woman. Now, he was miserable.

 

Tucking a leg underneath herself, Frankie frowned, “You’re only thirty, Damon. That’s not old.”

 

“I envy you, Frankie. You’re not tied down yet,” Snorting, Damon added, “Least Cameron had it right. With someone he loved…”

 

“You don’t need to stay in a shit marriage, Damon. You can still be there for Sammy.”

 

With his forehead in the palm of his hand, the construction worker groaned, “Not the way I want to, Frankie. She’d take Sammy from me, I know she would. She’s a bitter bitch that woman.”

 

Frankie knew Damon wasn’t in the right mood. Seeing two people love each other the way Cameron and Darla did made anyone else in a relationship question the validity of their love. To see two people adore each other the way they did was both beautiful and heartbreaking, for they all knew one day she would be gone and the damage left in her wake would be hard to recover from.

 

“Don’t speak like that, Damon,” Frankie whispered, “It isn’t going to do your daughter any good by being so bitter. If you’re going to insist on staying with the woman, then you need to at least create a positive environment. Sammy can’t see her father treating her mother so poorly, it’ll only show that it’s okay for a woman to be treated that way.”

 

Damon knew she was right. He tried his best to not let his bitterness show around his daughter. He didn’t want her to grow up believing in old thinking and stereotypical gender roles. Daddy didn’t need to be distant and overruling and mommy didn’t need to be meek and put down. They were just two people who hated each other.

 

Cameron and Darla would have been great parents.

 

“You sound more miserable than me.”

 

Damon and Frankie turned their heads to see Cameron standing in the middle of the staircase. Still miserable looking as ever, he was wearing and open blue bathrobe, with old slippers. The construction worker smiled, leaning back in his seat and nodding, “Good to see you out of bed, bud.”

 

“I had to take a piss,” Cameron murmured, looking off to the side, “And there was no soap in the bathroom upstairs.”

 

Admittedly, Frankie had purposely not refilled the soap dispenser in the master bathroom - knowing Cameron’s hyper hygienic habits would cause him to seek the downstairs toilet. Darla always said that she loved how clean he was; washing his hands was like an art form. Most people rushed through the process, but he took his time. Scrubbed every inch. Watched the movements as if he were painting a masterpiece.

 

Damon smirked over at Frankie, getting up to help himself to the kitchen. Cameron trudged behind the couch, cupping the back of the young girl’s head and speaking, “I know what you did.”

 

“It worked didn’t it?” Frankie’s big, Hazel eyes blinked up at him, hoping he would understand.

 

Grumbling under his breath, he gently pinched her ear before heading to the bathroom. Frankie smiled to herself, knowing at least his affection of her was there, even amongst the misery. Cameron and Darla had become family to her. Whereas most were confused by her sexual orientation, they never passed judgement or even blinked whenever she’d bring a girl or a boy over.

 

With a wink at Frankie, Damon adjusted himself before lifting his head in Cameron’s direction. Since it seemed that neither of them were leaving, the widow groaned, “What do you two want?”

 

“Come out with us.” Damon begged.

 

“No.”

 

Hugging her knees, Frankie pleaded, “Please, Cameron. You need to get out of this house. Get out of your robe. We’ll go to that burger place down the block. You love cheeseburgers, remember?”

 

“I loved a lot of things…” He murmured miserably, eyes casted to the side.

 

Damon and Frankie looked at each other, as if begging the other for help. Neither knew what the solution was. Depression was a serious disease and there was no easy remedy. Especially when the source of the sickness was due to the loss of a loved one. What were they supposed to say? Would it actually get better? Darla was gone, nothing they said would make that okay.

 

Clearing his throat, Damon awkwardly grumbled, “I need to get going...Sammy, y’know…”

 

With a small nod, Cameron tiredly spoke, “Tell her...Uncle Cameron said hi.”

 

“She’d love to see you.”

 

“Goodbye, Damon.” The widow sighed, walking passed both of them to go back to bed.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Not too long ago, Frankie had found a job as a bartender at a little mom and pop dive. While she was no mixologist, or even really a knowledgeable barkeep; they didn’t need anything fancy. So, someone who could open up a soda bottle and pour it into a glass with ice, was hired. Luckily, that someone was her.

 

“You still keeping an eye on Cameron?”

 

Davy was a local man, who always found his way into the dive. Frankie liked to think of him as a sailor, but he was in fact a pipeliner. Being that Darla had many friends in town, news of her death spread everywhere and everyone seemed to be concerned as to how Cameron was handling it.

 

The burly man scratched at his beard, as Frankie poured a shot of whiskey for him, “I try as much as possible. Whenever I’m not here.”

 

“You need to get yourself a boyfriend, missy,” Davy’s southern drawl hit her eardrums, hailing somewhere from down south, “Or girlfriend. But, it certainly ain’t healthy spending all your free time with a widowed man.”

 

Frankie didn’t say anything, just cleaning the counter mindlessly. No one understood the responsibility she felt when Darla died. It wasn’t like Cameron was just a grieving friend. He was family to her. She felt an overwhelming need to protect him and she couldn’t just abandon him, just for cheap kicks.

 

“It’s cause you love him. You always have. You just loved him so much, you’d never try nothing. And you loved Darla, because Cameron loved her.” Davy assessed.

 

Frankie frowned, “Don’t talk like that, Davy. And if you’re so concerned with free time, why are you here? Don’t you have some cute little blondie waiting for you?”

 

Davy smiled, “Darling Emma? You know my baby girl works night - Emergency Room keeps her away from me, but I don’t mind. She’s saving lives and if she’s tired and needs to sleep during the day, I don’t mind.”

 

A warm smile crossed her lips, while patting his hand, “You’re a good man, Davy.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Frankie arrived home that night, she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Davy’s words swam in her mind and all the work she had done during the day to preoccupy herself hadn’t chased away what he said. What was it about the people around her? Couldn’t she had just been a concerned friend? Why was it that her adoration for Cameron was always misconstrued to be something romantic?

 

Before she was able to pop her day old Chinese food in the microwave, Frankie heard her cell phone ring. Cameron had a special sound to his, which probably made people think she felt for him in a romantic sense even more. They didn’t know how much he truly cared for him and how worried she was. Personally, she knew how badly depression would weigh down on the soul and make you want to end it all.

 

“Hello?” Frankie spoke, after answering the phone.

 

“Frankie…” Cameron’s voice greeted, in a broken, raspy voice, “I...I did something terrible.”

 

* * *

 

 

Frankie had never sped so fast in her life. Her little car even rattled, her foot pressing down on the gas pedal. Her heart beat frantically, not caring if she got pulled over. All she needed to hear was that Cameron had an accident and she was racing towards his house. He couldn’t possibly have tried anything, could he?

 

Luckily, the door was open, as she fled into his home, hearing Cameron shout for her from the kitchen. When Frankie ran in, she saw her friend, with a cloth pressed into his hand and blood on the floor, “I...I tried to make something...but...I remembered that Darla was the cook...and I wasn’t paying attention and did you know my knives are incredibly sharp?”

 

Not saying anything, Frankie ran and grabbed a hold of his hand, removing the cloth and shoving the wound under the sink faucet. Hot water splashed down against the cut and Cameron winced in agony. It was a nasty cute and she knew he needed stitches, but she first wanted to try to disinfect it.

 

“I didn’t do this on purpose.” He repeated several times, as if begging her to believe.

 

Frankie retrieved a new cloth and pressed it in his palm, “Hold this and let’s go.”

 

“I don’t want to go to the hospital. They’ll think I did this on purpose.”

 

“You need stitches, Cameron!”

 

Defeated, the widow nodded with a frown, as he was led out into his car. Frankie quickly restarted her car and drove off, mindful to not go too fast, as Cameron was often strict about speed limits. She didn’t want to spook him anymore than he was and honestly, her nerves couldn’t take it.

 

“It’s important you know I didn’t do this on purpose,” Cameron sadly spoke, “Please say you believe me, Frankie.”

 

Hands shaking on the wheel, Frankie murmured, “Damon lives close. Why didn’t you call Damon?”

 

Looking down, Cameron admitted, “Damon...is my friend. My best friend. But...he would get mad...I didn’t think you would get mad.”

 

With a heavy sigh, the blonde turned her head towards her friend and admitted, “I’m not mad, Cameron. I’m worried. I’m so worried,” Tears forming in her eyes, Frankie banged a fist against the steering wheel, “Darla asked for me to take care of you and-”

 

“I’m a grown man, Frankie!”

 

Eyes wide, Frankie stopped the car and stared at Cameron. Though his words came out in a shouting matter, he did not look mad. Instead, he looked desperate as his lips gently quivered and his eyes teared up, “I’m...I’m a grown man, Frankie. You don’t need to look out for me like this...I’m not a child.”

 

“I...I know you’re not a child...I…” With her own eyes watering, Frankie looked away and held her forehead in her hand. How stupid she felt for babying a grown man. The last thing he probably wanted was for her to treat him like he was incapable of taking care of himself. Cameron was older than her, but yet she treated him like he was a baby that needed constant attention.

 

“Frankie...I didn’t mean to upset you,” He softly spoke, “I think...I’m just losing hold of who I am.”

 

With a small nod, Frankie put the car back in drive and continued towards the hospital. The air between them was uneasy and Cameron instantly felt his heart plagued with sadness. The petite girl had always had a special place in his heart. And she was sacrificing her free time to help him. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but he felt himself unraveling.

 

Darla, please help.

 

 

* * *

 

Cameron did indeed need stitches and the doctor took him in right away. Frankie had stayed behind in the waiting room, seeing it was a slow night in the ER. She commended nurses and anyone in the medical profession. They did a job that she knew she could never do - they were stronger than she could ever be.

 

“You’re here with Cameron, huh?”

 

Lifting her head, Frankie saw one of the nurses speaking to her. A redhead, who she had had a one night stand with about eight months back. Sometimes, she felt like the town they were in was too small. Not that she felt particularly awkward around someone she had casual sex with, but after being a little shaken up by her car ride conversation with Cameron, she wanted to be left alone.

 

Sticking her hands in the pockets of her thin hoodie, Frankie sighed, “Yea...I didn’t want him driving himself.”

 

With a smile, the redhead took a seat next to Frankie and pointed out, “He looked scared in there. As if he wanted you there to hold his hand.”

 

“He was never good with blood.”

 

“He really cares for you,” The nurse observed, turning back to the other woman and adding, “And you really care for him. It’s sweet. You were always here when his wife was dying.”

 

Frankie furrowed her eyebrows in, pointing out, “Of course. Darla was my friend.”

 

The redhead laughed and shook her head, “No...it was more than that. Of course you were sad for Darla, but you were really here for Cameron,” Leaning back in the chair, the nurse leaned closer and asked, “Now that Darla is gone, are you just waiting to make a move on him? I mean, he’s a good looking man, sensitive, smart - you’re really taking advantage of the grief train; it’ll only be a matter of time until he looks to you for...physical comfort.”

 

At a loss for words, Frankie couldn’t believe what the nurse had just said to her. The people of the town were sometimes too bold - like the woman at the grocery store who had told her that she needed to dress more feminine or else she’d never find a good man to take care of you. Was there something in the water?

 

“You’re misreading the whole situation,” Frankie murmured, “I care for Cameron. I love him. But, I’m not like that. This is a friend in need. I’m just being there for him.”

 

“Sure. If that’s what you call it.” The nurse smirked, before getting up and walking away.

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

 

A few weeks had gone by since the incident at the hospital. Surprisingly, Cameron had decided to go back to his job after the long sabbatical. Perhaps the event had jolted him, though the word was that he was simply a drone. Go to work, go home. The man didn’t even take lunch breaks. It was as if he was trying to be constantly on the move, so to not stand still and have to face the massive depression running his life.

 

Frankie hadn’t seen Cameron. Things felt...awkward. Strange. It wasn’t just the small conflict in the car, but just how people viewed her. It wasn’t right that the people of the town spread rumors of how she was only helping him due to some romantic feelings they thought she had for him. The man was her friend and she wanted to help out. Why in the world couldn’t a woman be friends with a man without there being some other sort of agenda?

 

“Fuck what they say.” Damon barked, while taking a swig of his beer.

 

“They’re wrong, Damon.” Frankie murmured, running the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass.

 

With a shrug, the construction worker chewed on some bar nuts and commented, “Yea, well even if they weren’t, it doesn’t dismiss you helping out a friend. Even if you did have those type of feelings for Cameron, it doesn’t mean your motives are slowly to get into his pants. It’s not right. Fuck what everyone says, you’re his friend and you were helping. I’m his friend, but no one thinks I wanna fuck him.”

 

“It’s because you’re a guy,” Frankie snorted, shaking her head, “No one thinks twice. When opposite sexes are concerned, no one just thinks that they’re two human beings. We’re reduced to being thought of as deviant animals.”

 

Damon reached over to ruffle Frankie’s hair, causing the shorter person to give out a small laugh and playfully swat his hand away. At times, living on the road - not settling down, it seemed easier. They didn’t have a lot of money, but then again they didn’t have a lot weighing them down. Life...sometimes got in the way of them living.

 

“Is there...is there room for one more…?”

 

The sudden raspy voice made both jump slightly, turning to see Cameron standing in front of them. The man had never been much of a bar person and it was even strange seeing him in that kind of setting. Then again, people changed. Sometimes, Frankie thought she didn’t know these men at all, but then again, she didn’t really know herself anymore either.

 

Looking back and forth, Damon slowly nodded, “Yea, man, pull up a chair.”

 

Frankie focused on the way Cameron’s Adam's apple bobbed, as he gulped and hesitantly grabbed a chair to join the two. Damon’s eyes shifted between the two, clearing his throat at the awkward tension between them. Things had never been so serious before. Their friendship had been light hearted, free, and uplifting. When had life gotten in the way?

 

Motioning towards the bartender to get them another round, Damon asked, “So, how you holding up?”

 

Cameron was slipping his trenchcoat off his shoulders, when he answered the other man, “Working...has helped. It’s a distraction. There’s a lot of new people since I left there, not used to them. But, I guess it’s good. Less people showing me pity, but then again you have the rumors circling around as to who I am and why I was gone for so long.”

 

“Rumors are a bitch.” Frankie softly scoffed, staring down at her beer.

 

The two men glanced at each other, before Damon excused himself to the restroom. It left Frankie there with Cameron, in a bar that wasn’t heavily populated, with music not loud enough to drown their thoughts. In the past, if there was silence between them, it was comforting. Easy. A sign of how close the two friends were. Now, it was just a telling indication of a problem they weren’t talking about.

 

Working his jaw, Cameron scooted forward and admitted, “I don’t like this. I don’t like this silence,” Shaking his head, the widow continued, “I’m sorry what happened in the car, Frankie, I didn’t mean to lose myself to you. I...I was very shaken and...and things are just crashing down around me and I don’t know how to stop it.”

 

“You don’t need to push your friends away…”

 

Knuckles whitening, Cameron begged in a whisper, “Please, Frankie, believe me, I’m not. I love you-”

 

“You shouldn’t say that,” Frankie turned towards Cameron, trying desperately to not cry as she whispered, “People are already spreading rumors. Everyone thinks the only reason I help you, is because I want to fuck you. I can’t do anything nice, without the whole town just thinking I’m some manipulative floosy.”

 

Eyes wide, the widow leaned forward even more and took one of her hands in both and reassured her, “I don’t care, what other people think. You and Damon are the most important people in my life. I love both of you and I don’t care what others think. You don’t think people spread rumors about Darla? As much as they loved her, the stigma about her disease still followed us. They called her a whore and said I had it. That she cheated and gave it to me, and you know none of that is true. The people in this town are all hypocrites.”

 

As much as a side of Frankie wanted to pull away and scold him for only perpetuating the speculation that much of the town believed, she couldn’t find it in herself to do so. It felt so good being so close to Cameron, like they had in the past. Unashamed, unapologetic; just a platonic bond that she didn’t care others didn’t understand.

 

“I’m assuming you two made up?” Damon snorted, adjusting himself before mounting himself on the barstool.

 

Laughing softly, Cameron’s raspy voice pointed out, “Don’t act like this is the most awkward thing you’ve walked in on.”

 

“Damon doesn’t exactly know the concept of a locked door.” Frankie laughed.

 

“Y’know, I really didn’t need to see you fucking my sister!” Damon snorted pointedly towards the petite woman.

 

The other two laughed, knowing Damon wasn’t exactly mad. After all that had been a few years ago. Frankie always joked with the construction worker that his whole family was good looking and that one day, she would have at least one of them, but she didn’t think he ever speculated that it’d be his sister that she got to.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where were you?”

 

Damon groaned, when he got home that night. After it seemed like things were lightening up in the trio, they had gotten a  few more drinks at the bar before going to the town’s diner. Cameron seemed to actually have his appetite back, considering it had been a long time since he had been able to polish off a cheeseburger and fries.

 

Taking his windbreaker off, the man looked up towards the ceiling before turning towards his wife. Karla was not the love of his life. Damon didn’t want to be so miserable about it, but she wasn’t. Sure, a lot of fun and a great lay, but they had ended up hating each other after the baby was born. They just weren’t a good fit and he hated how she brought the worst out in him. Though promiscuous back in his day, he didn’t consider himself a womanizer or misogynistic. But, the woman made him bitter, when there was a time when his usual mood was typically happy.

 

Karla stood with her hands on her hips, pink lips pursing together as Damon groaned, “Was out.”

 

“Out where?” The redhead demanded.

 

“C’mon, why do you have to shout?” Damon threw his hands up in frustration, “Isn’t Sammy in bed?”

 

Arms folded, Karla followed her husband into their large kitchen, “After an hour of trying, yes. But, you wouldn’t know that, since you’re always out.”

 

Stopping, Damon popped open the top to his beer and snorted, “You know, I could use the crap line about me working to put food on the table, but we both know it’s crap. I get out at a good time. I could come home. But, I don’t want to. I hate it here.”

 

“No, you’re too busy with your butt buddies.”

 

“Don’t you talk crap about them.”

 

Karla spat, “Why not? When was the last time Cameron and Frankie were even over?”

 

Damon laughed facetiously, “Why would they ever want to come over? You don’t make them feel welcomed. Frankie and Darla have never done a single thing to you and yet every time you ever were in their company, you just had this twisted look on your face. Cameron and Frankie would love to see Sammy, but you never let me take her out. I’m a good father, but you don’t trust me to even hold her. You’re making me the enemy and she’s not even two!”

 

“Because, I don’t want you spreading anything to our daughter.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

Arms folded, Karla snarled, “Don’t think I don’t know what was wrong with Darla. She probably gave it to Cameron and you two are so fucking close, who knows.”

 

Mouth hung open in a state of shock, the husband asked, flabbergasted, “Do you know how ignorant you sound? How fucking ignorant? How insensitive? Darla was a good person and she just got dealt a shit hand. Didn’t affect who she was or diminish her character. And what the fuck about me and Cameron?”

 

“You were always drinking around those three and I know how you feel about dark women; you three probably did something.”

 

“Do you have anything? Does Sammy have anything? No? Then leave me alone!”

 

The volume of Damon’s shouting set off the sleeping baby, both parents hearing Sammy’s cries from upstairs. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the tired man leaned against the marble counter as Karla glared up at him, “See what you’ve done?”

 

“I don’t even know what we fight about anymore,” Damon shook his head, placing his beer down and firmly stating, “I’m going to go to her. You can’t keep me from my daughter. She’s both of ours and you can’t hold her over me. You want me here, we need to sit down and really talk out our problems, or we need to get a divorce, before we fucking kill each other.”

 

“What kind of family structure do you think Sammy will have if we divorce, Damon? You want to be like your freak friends?”

 

“When did you become so homophobic and racist?”

 

Karla narrowed her eyes, “When did you become such a pussy?”

 

Eyes squinting, Damon threw his hands up before turning to leave the room. There was no use in arguing, because it never got them anywhere. Being friends with Cameron, Darla, and Frankie had taught him sensitivity, opened his eyes to a lot that he wasn’t used to, and made him humble. It frustrated him that a woman like Karla could so easily change all that for him. He didn’t like himself that way.

 

Coming to his daughter’s room, Damon took a moment to collect himself. The last thing he wanted Sammy to grow up in, was an unstable home. Being moved around, from place to place, was something the father knew well and it wasn’t what he wanted for his daughter. It was why he had married Karla in the first place - wanting to give his offspring what he could never have; structure.

 

But, perhaps that just wasn’t in the cards.

 

Scooping the crying baby up, Sammy slowly quieted down in her father’s strong arms. Damon’s eyes closed, as he gently rocked his daughter. Lord knew that he had never expected to be a dad. Never expected to actually impregnate a woman. It didn’t mean he loved his little girl any less. God, he loved her so much. He just wish he knew what the right thing to do was.

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

"Is it true that Darla was a lawyer in New York City?"

Mia Song was a second generation American, who still had a lot of family living in South Korea. Once a year, she and her parents would take a trip to visit relatives and would stay for about a month. Much to Frankie's joy, she had finally come back and sat on the other side of the bar, where her friend stood making cocktails.

Around the same age, Mia was of average height and athletic build. Her long black hair was styled in two French Braids and she only had a little bit of mascara on, as well as wearing her black framed glasses rather than her contacts. It had obviously been a long flight and Frankie was just happy she had made the time to visit, since if it was her who had flown all the way from South Korea, she would still be in bed.

Squeezing a lime for Mia's Gin and Tonic, Frankie smiled, "Yep. I believe she even worked on Wall Street."

"She was such a smart woman," Mia sighed and shook her head, accepting the drink and raising the glass in salute, "I don't think I could ever deal with all that schoolwork, though."

"You're more of a hands on person. The world needs both lawyers and hair dressers."

With a crooked smile, the Asian American nodded, "You always know how to make a girl feel special, Frankie."

Playfully wiggling her eyebrows, the tomboy joked, "That's why I get all the ladies."

Mia and Frankie shared a laugh, as a few more bar patrons came in. Davy was there again, but he had a woman with him and the blonde thought it was better to let the burly man have his alone time. He was good looking and hadn't always the best luck when it came to dating; sometimes she felt that he was too old of a soul for many of those who made up her generation.

After helping a few customers, Frankie returned to Mia, "I'd love to move to New York City, it just sounds like the epicenter of everything awesome," She sighed, "But, my girlfriend would never want to live in such a metropolis. She's so small town. Which, what is so great about this town? Just a bunch of gossip whores, who pretend to be so open minded, but talk behind your back."

Frankie snorted, looking down at the counter. Rumors plagued the town like an infection that there seemed to be no cure for. Everything felt so toxic and there were moments where the tomboy felt like running away. Going back on the open road and not having a committed place of residency.

But, who would she even go with? The people she used to be on the road with, were all settled down. Damon had his daughter, and as much as he complained; his wife as well. Cameron...was unfortunately uncommitted, but Frankie could only imagine the rumors that would circulate.  _Did you hear they ran away together? I always knew something was going on between those two. She just couldn't wait for Darla to die._

"Hey? You there?" Mia snapped her fingers, blinking at her friend.

With a small shake of her head, Frankie feigned a smile, "I'm okay. Tired."

"So, you wouldn't be up for going out with Lesley and I tonight?"

"No, I'll come out with you two," Frankie nodded, before groaning, "I wish there were more gay bars in town. Tired of seeing the same girls over and over again."

Mia giggled, resting her chin on her fist and teasing, "C'mon, Frankie, when are  _you_ gonna settle down with someone nice?"

"Mmm...never."

* * *

It was a new day. An unique day. Cameron was repainting his whole house. Damon and Frankie were there to help. Even Davy had come over to fix some things around the home. No one knew where this sudden need to paint came from, but to the friends, it showed that perhaps the widow was at least trying to move forward.

They had been painting for hours - Davy had to get going for some job he was doing, but neither Damon nor Frankie were ready to leave. The furniture was all out of the way, plastic still covered the floor, and they hadn't even started on the kitchen yet. All three had dirtied whatever clothes they were wearing, but it felt good.

Taking a break, Damon dispersed beers between the three as they all took seats on top of overturned buckets. Cameron smiled over towards Frankie, who had blue paint in her hair, "I think once you dyed your hair that color."

"Blue? I don't remember." Frankie pondered, cracking open her beer.

"Yea, yea, I remember that. We were in New Orleans." Damon pointed out, reminiscing over the great time they had.

Laughing, the blonde shrugged, "Yea, I was definitely not remembering New Orleans. I could have gotten hitched and not known it."

"So many nice boobs." The construction worker hummed, his eyes closed and licking his lips as if the breasts were in front of him.

Cameron shook his head, "I remember New Orleans. You thought that nice waitress was a prostitute and you tried to pay her for sex."

"And she slapped him across the face!" Frankie shouted triumphantly, making a fist in victory, "Oh my God! I remember that! Damon! You were so bad back then."

"I didn't mean disrespect," Damon grumbled, rubbing her cheek as if the slap just occurred, "But, c'mon, how she was dressed-" He stopped himself, knowing Frankie was giving him a look that said he knew better. He did, he was just trying to dig himself out from that hole he had dug earlier.

As soon as they seemed to be having a good time, Damon's phone buzzed and he stared at the text message before groaning, "Jesus."

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked.

Quickly chugging his beer, Damon stood up and tucked his phone back in his back pocket, "Sammy chipped a tooth. I gotta go. Listen, I'll finish the toilet tomorrow - just leave the key under the mat if you go to work."

Cameron and Frankie said their goodbyes to Damon, as he quickly left the house. Even though Sammy was unexpected, everyone knew the man loved his daughter more than life itself. It would have been easy for him to be a deadbeat dad. To deny the pregnancy, say the kid wasn't his, and just continue on his whore ways. But, he was better than that, and even though it wasn't working out with Karla, he wouldn't let that stop him from being a good father.

Smiling gently, Cameron expressed, "He's a good man. A good father. I wish Karla was a little nicer though." He added almost as a second thought.

With a small laugh, Frankie agreed, "Yea, Karla never was a big fan of us. I think she thought we were stealing Damon away."

"I don't even remember what it was like to feel jealous. Darla and I never had that," The widow remembered ruefully, forcing a smile to pull at his lips, "You once dated someone very jealous."

A loud groan escaped her mouth, running her hands through her hair, " _Yess._ Jolene. She always thought I was going to go off and cheat on her just because another girl winked at me."

"You were very popular with the ladies." Cameron gave a wink and a cheeky grin.

"Yea, but you know me, I wouldn't be unfaithful. Being promiscuous while single is nothing to be ashamed about, but if I'm dating someone, I'm dating someone. No if ands or butts. But, she didn't want to believe that," Smiling, Frankie added, "Besides, she always thought you and I were up to something."

"That seems to be the general consensus, doesn't it?"

Frankie shrugged, while taking a swig of her beer, "Maybe we should fuck then?"

With a pregnant pause passing, the two erupted in laughter. It felt good to see Cameron laughing again. God, he had an amazing smile when he did and the sides of his eyes crinkled so joyously. Frankie didn't think he had looked that amused since Darla died and it gave her hope that her friend was perhaps finally coming back.

Taking her empty beer bottle, Cameron suggested ordering takeout since they had been working all day. Not wanting the blue paint to remain in her hair, the tomboy asked to take a shower while they waited for the Chinese food to arrive. There was an amazing restaurant in town and considering the accountant was feeling better, Frankie surmised he felt like splurging.

Showering around each other was no big deal. For times when they were on the road, they shared motel rooms and even the back of cars. Being comfortable with each other, was just a part of their friendship. Perhaps that was what Karla didn't like, but none of them ever did anything with each other. They were adults, capable of healthy relationships with the opposite sex without making it about sex.

Frankie lathered shampoo in her hands, before running her fingers through her blonde hair. Sometimes, it still felt odd that they were even in this position. Showering in questionable bathrooms had become the norm. Now, they were adults, with nice marble walls, and glass sliding doors that were frosted over to only show the outline of someone using it.

"You're going to prune in there!" Cameron shouted from the other side of the bathroom door.

Playfully whining, Frankie shouted back, "I'm never leaving!"

The door opened then, Cameron careful not to look inside while humming, "Food just got here~"

"Hand me a towel and don't steal my egg roll!"


End file.
